It's Not Being Arrogant
by Taerga Live
Summary: CRACK FIC! Ever wonder what it's like to become an Assassin? Well, if you are looking for the true answer...look somewhere else. Here's my spin on it. Enjoy!
1. if you happen to be the best

Random Notes: I found out that Kadar is younger than Malik, which ruins all plans of any fanfics I was going to do. So, to make myself feel better, for all purposes of any AC fanfic I make, Kadar is (was?) older than Malik. After all, I'm the author. So, enjoy my crack fic of doom.

* * *

An assassin doesn't start off as an assassin. No, they start off as an Assassin-In-Training. You can call it AIT for short, but no one says that. So, if you do say that, everyone will point at you and laugh in your face. Hopefully, they brushed their teeth, but it is very likely that they haven't.

Now, reading that first paragraph, I bet you are wondering where I am going with this. I, the nefarious Taerga Lïve, master of the unknown world that is known to sea monkeys, is taking you on a journey through time and space…without the space part. That's right, a journey though time.

Now, I know you think you know where you're going, right. You're thinking "This is an Assassin's Creed fanfic. We're going back to 1191AD." Well, I have a word for you. PICKLES! Oh, and you're wrong. We are going back in time, just not 1191AD. We're going to 1179AD. Why 1179 you may ask? Well, that's when Altaïr was thirteen of course!

Before I let this tale continue, I must say that I had some help…er…Retelling this tale (and not totally making it up…) from my man, Flames of Despair…or FOD. Just don't tell him I called him FOD. He's in love with me…whether he wants to be or not.

Okay, enough of that. Let the story commence!

* * *

_Finally, today is the day. The day I begin my training to become an Assassin. This is truly the greatest day of my life. _A young boy of twelve thought to himself (Because who else are you to think to?) as he stood in a line with other boys his age. He looked around as the Master spoke to them all, being sure that he still listened to what was being said. In the crowd of Assassins and Assassin Apprentices, he saw his brother, who was well underway his second year of being an apprentice. His brother stuck his tongue out at him, his way of teasing him.

Yes, if you guessed that the person who is becoming an apprentice is Malik, then you have guessed right. Congratulations, you get nothing. Yes, Malik had waited this day since he was very little, wanting to follow in his father's footsteps. This was the best day of his life.

Al Mualim: You've all are here today to begin your training. Once you have completed your training, you will be apprentices no more, but true Brothers of the Creed. You will need to follow the rules and treat the code with respect. It will be your life from here on out.

??: You mean my life's going to be a bunch of words? That's stupid!

Everyone looked around for the owner of the voice. Who would dare interrupt their master while he was speaking?

A young boy stepped up from the line. He had dark brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. On his face, he wore a cocky grin that made him look arrogant. Malik stared at him. Everyone stared at him.

Al Mualim: That is not a very good way to start off your training, boy. Another outburst like that and you will never become an Assassin.

??: Fine, I'll be quiet.

So, now I hope you can all guess who it was who was acting like a cocky bastard. (If not, you're lost.) I'm just going to skip ahead now to the next day, when they officially start their training.

TIME SKIP!

Malik stood in front of his master. His heart began to race. Today, he was going to receive his teacher and partner. After being told who his teacher was (God, can you tell I'm cutting corners?), it was time to find out who his training partner would be.

Al Mualim: Malik, you will be partnered up with…Altaïr.

Malik: (Thinking) Wonder who THAT is.

Al Mualim: Altaïr, come here would you.

The young boy, who was sleeping in the corner of the room, rolled his eyes as he walked over to his master.

Altaïr: Yeah, yeah. I'm here.

Malik started in disbelief. It was the arrogant boy from the other day! Malik fought back a groan.

This was the beginning of…dooooooooooooom

Not doom, but dooooooooooooom. There is a big difference my friends.

What will happen to these two? Will cool whip rain from the heavens? …What? Will I ever stop being so foolish? Will I-

FOD: Will you ever shut up? Seriously. No one cares about you.

Taerga Lïve: …

FOD: …

Taerga Lïve: …

FOD: …what?

Taerga Lïve: FOD! (Glumps)


	2. when you are just that awesome

Randomness: Picture here -

Go to and search "Altair Malik Cake" It should be the first picture there.

I got the whole "Assassins like cake" thing from here. After writing this chapter, I didn't realize how much it actually went with the picture itself! READ

* * *

Malik just stared at Altaïr, who was walking beside him with his hands behind his head. Altaïr seemed to have this grace about him where no matter who was in the room; he would be the greatest person in the room. There is an adjective for this, my friends. Our loveable character, Altaïr, is conceited.

Their instructor…who isn't important enough to get a name…let's call him Jophy…anyway, the instructor waited for the two boys to arrive to the field.

"So, when is this so-called training going to begin?" Altaïr said as he and Malik arrived.

Malik couldn't stand the arrogant tone in Altaïr's voice; sounding as if being an Assassin was the easiest job in the world. Malik knew from his brother that the first year is rough, and the second year was much worse.

Sighing, Jophy gave each of the boys a wooden sword, telling them that these were to be their practice weapons. They would not receive a real sword until they passed their sword fighting test, which would be in two months of time.

Altaïr rolled his eyes as he took the sword from Jophy, who held back a glare to the younger one. Malik stood there, trying to figure out just what made Altaïr act like that. Perhaps he didn't want to be an Assassin. Maybe his father was making him do this. He knew that many Assassins made their sons follow in their footsteps. Most sons do it on their own, like Kadar and Malik.

"Now, before we start your actual training, you must first pass a rigorous test. You can back out of it if you so desire." Jophy started, looked each boy in the eyes with sincere.

Malik shook his head and Altaïr rolled his eyes once again. Jophy continued.

"Now, this test requires you two…"

"Yeah?" Both boys said excitedly. Yes, even Altaïr was excited. He just really wanted to do something.

"…to take this box…"

"Yeah?"

"…and go door to door…"

"Yeah?"

"…and sell as much cake as possible."

"…" (Seriously, WTF man.)

"You can't be serious." Altaïr said. Jophy just put on a daycare-taker smile. (You know, the one with the annoying voice that always says "Won't that be fun?" No, it won't be fun. It'll never be fun.)

"That's the rigorous test? Selling cake?!" Malik said, almost shouting.

"That's goes against child labor laws!" Altaïr shouted really loudly. Malik and Jophy just started at him.

"No such thing Altaïr. Besides, even if there were child labor laws, this isn't considered labor. This is considered fundraising. That's what will be called a loophole." Jophy explained, and then got hit with a rock by myself cause he knew too much. I was going to replace him, but decided against it. Too much work.

"Fundraising? Why does the Masayf (Sp?) need that?" Malik asked, taking the box filled with cakes.

Jophy smiled. "Well, how else do you think we were able to afford such a snazzy hide-away. Plus, you've got to pay for the equipment we give you somehow."

Malik frowned. He had a point. Meanwhile, Altaïr took a cake out of the box and began to eat it.

"You're paying for that." Jophy said, and then walked away.

Malik held the box as he and Altaïr walked towards a houseish thing. (Cause seriously, it ain't a house. More like a shack.) Altaïr bit into another cake.

"Would you stop eating the damn cake?!" Malik yelled.

"Bite me." Altaïr said with a full mouth. Malik just rolled his eyes.

_Why me?_ He wondered as he knocked on the door. Altaïr shoved the rest of the cake in his mouth and pushed off the crumbs with his hands.

An older woman dressed in a dark green dress answered the door, holding a baby in her arms.

"Hello, we-" Malik started to say. The woman slammed the door shut angrily. Malik just blinked a few times before turning around to see Altaïr making faces at the closed door.

"Were you doing that the whole time?" Malik asked.

"Pretty much." Altaïr said, trying to steal another cake from the box.

"Nuh uh! No more cake for you. C'mon, there's got to be someone in Acre that will buy these cakes." (Yes, they are in Acre. That town near the Masayf was just way too poor for them to sell anything.)

They continued to try and sell the cakes, but had no luck. They started out with ten cakes, and now only have six thanks to Altaïr and his endless pit of a stomach.

"Altaïr, this is the last house in the rich district. If we don't sell any cake here, we're screwed. I'll warm this customer up, and then you come in for the kill. Got it?" Malik waited for Altaïr to answer.

"The kill. Got it." (Come take me down, burry me, burry me. Lol, okay, I'm done. I just love that song.)

Altaïr and Malik stood in the great library of Al Mualim. You know, the room with the fake window. Al Mualim stood there, pinching the brim of his nose. Malik shock like a leaf while Altaïr folded his arms and started at the ceiling.

"You do realize the seriousness of what you have done?" Al Mualim asked, sighing. Malik gulped and Altaïr rolled his eyes.

"I just did what Malik told me to do. I went in for the kill." Altaïr explained.

"I didn't mean literally!" Malik exclaimed. (Tee hee. Explained. Exclaimed.)

Al Mualim, who was growing tired of this, held up his hand. "What's done is done. There is no changing the past. It was a mistake that will never happen again, correct?"

Both the boys nodded, Altaïr looking serious for once. Al Mualim sighed.

"Good. Oh, and Altaïr. Your instructor said that you do not like to follow directions. If you are to become an Assassin, I advise that you start listening to you leaders."

Looking solemn, Altaïr nodded. Malik was a bit shocked. Altaïr always seemed to joke around and never take anything seriously. What caused him to change at that moment? And moreover, why did Malik care?

Hm…good questions indeed. I believe that this is a great time for the chapter to end. Until next time, LET'S GO EAT SOME CAKE!


	3. when everyone else sucks

Hm...I have nothing to say for once. Oh well. READ AND REVIEW!

* * *

"Since you failed to sell any cakes and somehow are missing four, you need to find a new way to pay off your debt. Plus extra for the um…'little' incident that happened in Acre." Jophy told the boys who were sitting in the field. Malik and Altaïr groaned.

"Why?" Altaïr whined. "When are we going to actually learn anything?"

Malik rolled his eyes, yet recorded in his mind that Altaïr in fact wants to be an Assassin. There had to be another reason why he acted so arrogant.

"After you pay off that debt." Jophy said firmly. As he started to walk away, Altaïr stuck his tongue out after him.

"Yes, because THAT'S going to make everything better." Malik said sarcastically. Altaïr stood up, shooting Malik a dirty look.

"Alright smart guy, what's your idea?" He said, causing Malik to look up from the grass he was currently ripping out of the ground. (Please tell me I'm not the only one who does that.)

"What? Why do I have to come up with the idea?" Malik said, standing up.

"Cause I don't feel like it. Why? Can't think of one smart guy?" Altaïr shot Malik a cocky-assed smile, egging him on.

"I can think of one." Malik said, feeling himself blush a bit. What's with the smart guy? The way Altaïr says it makes it sound like he's joking; like Malik is really dumb. What did he do to make Altaïr think that way?

"Prove it." Malik started to bite the inside of his cheek. He did that anytime he was nervous. He was good at making plans and whatnot, he just needed time. He couldn't make something up on the spot. He had to analyze everything.

Altaïr waited impatiently, folding his arms across his chest and tapping his foot. He made a deep, loud sigh; the kind that sound really fake. Malik just glared.

"I knew it. You CAN'T come up with one. HA! What a joke." Altaïr said, throwing his head back, laughing.

Malik felt his face grow hot, whether from embarrassment or anger, he couldn't tell. He clenched his hands into fists. _He couldn't know. He just couldn't…right?_

He just couldn't sound stupid now. He had to think fast. But nothing could come to his mind. He just couldn't think of a plan.

That meant he had to think up a comeback fast. He couldn't let Altaïr have the last laugh. _Like so many others._

"Yeah, well, I don't see YOU coming up with anything, hot shot." _Oh yeah, REAL good comeback. You're such an idiot._ Malik mentally punched himself.

Altaïr stopped laughing and blinked. "What did you call me?"

Malik was taken back. "Um…hot shot?"

……………………

"HOW DARE YOU CALL ME HOT SHOT!" Altaïr screamed in Malik's face, causing Malik to fall over. Before he had a chance to say anything or get up, Altaïr grabbed Malik's hood and started dragging him away.

"Where are we going? Let me go!" Malik demanded. Altaïr looked over his shoulder.

"Never. I'll give you a plan, Smart Guy." Altaïr voice had a creepy, sinister tone to it; the voice of a possessed monkey! (Okay, maybe not MONKEY…) Fire was burning in his eyes. (Doesn't that hurt?)

Malik just gulped as he was dragged through the town.

* * *

Al Mualim held his arm out as an eagle swooped down from the sky and landed on his arm. The beautiful white bird had a letter tied to his leg. Al Mualim took the letter off and let the bird soar into the sky.

The letter was just news from Acre, saying that the heat had cooled down and it was now safe for the Assassins to go there again. Al Mualim sighed at this, for it would be bad if they couldn't return anytime soon.

Suddenly, a knock was heard. "Come in." He said as he began to write a response back to the letter.

Altaïr walked in to the room, a cocky, yet confident, smile graced his lips. He walked over to the desk and bowed to his master.

"Ah, Altaïr. What can I do for you?" Al Mualim asked, looking up from his letter. Altaïr pulled out a sack and dropped it onto Al Mualim's desk.

"Here you go. All the money Malik and I owe you." Altaïr said, grinning widely. Al Mualim opened the sack and counted the money.

"Why, this is all the money and then some. How on earth did you two earn this?"

Altaïr shrugged and put his hands behind his head. "Well, you should really thank Malik. Without him, we wouldn't have this money."

"Of course. Um…where exactly IS Malik?" Al Mualim asked as he looked around the room. Altaïr smiled.

"Oh, he's a little busy at the moment." There was something in his voice that Al Mualim didn't like.

"Altaïr," He said seriously. "How did you two earn this money?"

* * *

"YOU SOLD MALIK INTO PROSITUTION?!" Al Mualim screamed as they arrived in front of a whore house. Altaïr shrugged.

"Yeah, pretty much." Al Mualim just slapped himself in the face.

"Stay here." He commanded as he braced himself to enter. Altaïr just stared as he watched Al Mualim enter the whore house.

"Excuse me," Altaïr heard. "But, um…where is the boy you just recently…er…aquired?"

"The others are showing him how things work around here. Why?" Altaïr made a gagging motion and shuddered.

"I need him back."

"Well, honey, you can have him back but you gotta buy him back. I paid good money for him." Altaïr made a face.

"You don't understand," Al Mualim started. "Another one of my students sold him and-"

"Look honey, you want him back, you gotta pay me."

Al Mualim sighed. "Very well. How much do I owe you ma'am?" Altaïr bit his tongue to hold back the laughter.

"Ma'am? I'M A MAN!"

That's where this ends for today. Until next time, sell you best friend into prostitution. Have fun!


End file.
